


Karma

by orphan_account



Series: Tozier-Kaspbrak [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Established Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Swearing, Tozier-Kaspbrak Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 04:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21332272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everything is good. Everything owed to him is being repaid – that’s how he likes to look at it. He’s married. A couple of kids. A nice house in Greenwich Village. It’s all so domestic, he could be sick. But he’s happy. And after taking stock of his entire life for the better part of the night, he’s come to the conclusion that he fucking deserves that happiness, thank you very much Universe.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Tozier-Kaspbrak [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549198
Comments: 4
Kudos: 188





	Karma

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes Richie up: which isn’t a first, but it’s not entirely common either. His therapist would be proud. In the past couple of months, nightmares have become less and less frequent. He’s been able to sleep through the night without the need to take anything beforehand. And honestly, that’s all he ever asks for.

It’s five in the morning. He glances to the digital clock sitting on his bedside table. It blinks back at him for a moment before the next minute ticks over. It’s been like that for a while now; him staring straight up at the ceiling of his room, and every so often, he would look to see if any substantial amount of time had ticked by. And it never had.

What woke Richie up tonight was just his brain wandering. Maybe it’s because his therapist is actually good, and for the most part, lets him ramble on and on in their sessions about anything and everything, but since today’s session, he hasn’t been able to switch his brain off.

Everything is good. Everything owed to him is being repaid – that’s how he likes to look at it. He’s married. A couple of kids. A nice house in Greenwich Village. It’s all so domestic, he could be sick. But he’s happy. And after taking stock of his entire life for the better part of the night, he’s come to the conclusion that he fucking deserves that happiness, thank you very much Universe.

Everyone else seems happy too. Eddie surely must be: Richie will maintain to the end of his life and then some that he’s the best thing to ever happen to Eddie. And how tightly he’s entwined into Richie’s side right now, buried underneath a heap of blankets in their shared bed, a soft smile curled along his lip, Richie can only assume Eddie is happy. The rest of the Losers have their own lives now. All carved out for themselves and dotted around the country.

And after the lives they had all had, karma was really starting to play catch up in terms of paying them back. Like the universe was saying _sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry_ and kept pushing nice things at them all.

The arm slung over his waist tightens and Eddie shuffles closer. His nose presses into Richie’s neck, hot puffs of steady, constant breath wetting the join of Richie’s neck and shoulder. And Richie’s heart just about grows ten sizes. Eddie had been a brief segment of his session today with the Doc. He always manages to be. But then again, Richie still can’t believe that he’s able to have what he has. He’s able to have it and not feel afraid.

He wants to go back to his younger self, have him stand in front of him, and say “Hey, that thing you’re scared of? Well, listen to me; it’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be fine. The kid you like likes you too, and you’re going to get married, and adopt the cutest little gremlins you’ve ever seen. And that dickhead will insist on getting a Pomeranian _just because_, but you’ll end up loving it. And he’s going to be angry because that rat with a fro will love you more than him—”

A crackle of noise goes through the air. Turning his head, Richie adjusts his glasses and blinks at the baby monitor sitting next to his clock. It’s quiet for a moment, before the lights ripple again.

On his other side, Eddie hums against Richie’s shoulder. He makes some sort of noise – maybe even a word – but Richie hushes him. “I’ll get her,” Richie whispers, “go back to sleep.”

Eddie slips back under within seconds. As Richie slowly untangles himself from Eddie’s grasp, he tries not to cry at the sight of his husband shuffling into the warm space Richie left behind. It takes every ounce of willpower that he has in him to step away from their bed and not fall back into it. But the monitor’s lights blink again. This time, it’s followed by a static mumble of words. He turns down the volume and goes to see what the problem is.

He puts his hand against the wall and wanders out into the hallway. He’s been awake for a while now, but that’s not to say that the rest of his body is. Stumbling down the hall, by the time he gets to the last bedroom before the stairs, he’s met with a gummy grinning face peering over the railing of a crib. “Whatcha doin’ kiddo?”

Even without the lights on, Richie watches the kid’s face light up and disappear behind two tiny hands. Richie reaches for a small lamp on a nearby dresser. The lancet windows of the room look out on to the street, and although the main city never sleeps, the village is still dozing. And he doesn’t think the neighbours would appreciate having the lights of his house on at this time in the morning. Striding over to the crib, Richie adjusts his glasses. “What’re you doing up, hmm?”

The girl giggles behind her hands. A smile overtakes Richie’s face. If there’s anything that can make him laugh, it’s this kid.

“Come on then, tyke.” Richie fishes her out of the crib and into his arms. She’s a tiny thing, just coming up on three, but she’s still small for her age. They think it’s because of life before them. The social worker explained that she didn’t have the best life: that she could be difficult because of past traumas. And that was when they decided to have her. Because they understood. They could help. They could look after her. She buries her head into Richie’s shoulder, chewing on her closed fist. Richie turns off the light. “Let’s go see what’s on TV.”

She isn’t their only kid. Richie walks past the rooms of two others. But through their slightly ajar doors, he sees that they’re still sleeping: and even if only one of these kids got at least eight hours sleep, then he’ll count that as a win.

Their house is one of the bigger ones in the village. If Eddie insisted on having a big family, then it had to fit in the house. And two adults, three kids, and a small but monstrous dog needed space. Richie walks them both into the living room. It's open planned with the kitchen, and plates from last night’s dinner are still stacked in the drying rack. Richie tries not to groan. Eddie’s going to be annoyed that they weren’t put back: because steadily, he’s turned into that kind of husband, and Richie loves to poke fun at him for it.

Next thing he knows, he’ll be dragged to PTA meetings where Eddie will be throwing hands with Karen and Susan from Soho. And he’d be lying if Richie said that he didn’t plan on Instagram-living it for all of his fans to see.

Under the kitchen island, their little gremlin of a dog is snoring peacefully. As Richie grabs a couple of throws from the back of the main couch, the girl in his arms spots the dog.

“Alfwie,” she waves her hand at the dog. The dog, to Richie’s surprise, actually wakes up. It regards them both for a moment before huffing, and curling back into a ball in his bed.

“Leave Alfie be, Soph,” Richie sets her down on to the couch while he sees what they can watch. TV in the twilight hours is just weird. Reruns of shows he hasn’t seen in decades play, followed by shows that probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place. Richie manages to find an old rerun of Peppa Pig, and settles down with Sophie by his side. She’s managed to burrito herself in a cocoon of blankets.

The TV is quiet, but Sophie must be able to hear what’s going on. She’s content to watch what’s happening. As Richie watches her, he sees her eyelids start to droop, before her head starts to dip. Within a couple of seconds, she’s managed to claw back consciousness and focus back on the TV.

His phone buzzes against his thigh.

** _Bevvy_ ** _: So I know why I’m up at 5:08 am, but why are you?_

Richie stifles a laugh, making sure that the kid didn’t catch on that he wasn’t watching the TV. 

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Sophie decided that sleeping wasn’t really her thing. We’re watching Peppa Pig now until she realises that she does actually need to sleep._

It takes a minute for a reply to come back.

** _Bev_ ** _: Good luck with that. _

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: So why are YOU awake at this hour? _

** _Bev_ ** _: Caleb has a fever. I gave him some medicine so just waiting for him to go back to sleep._

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Where’s Haystack?_

** _Bev_ ** _: Out cold in bed. _

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Same with my man..._

** _Bev_ ** _: They really are useless, huh?_

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: I mean the sex must be amazing or else we wouldn’t bother._

**_Bev_**: _Beep Beep, Richie. Kids are present._

Sophie feels that bit heavier by Richie’s side. He glances down at the tiny bundle of blankets, with blond, wild, curly hair sticking out from the top of it. Yeah, he thinks. She’s gonna drop in the next few minutes. As long as Peppa or the rest of her friends don’t suddenly go on some roughhousing adventure, Sophie will fall asleep.

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Well sucks to be you, Bevvy, because I think this kid is on her way to Dreamland. _

** _Bev_ ** _: Fuck you, Richard. Fuck. You. _

And Richie watches her go. He’s learned to wait at least five minutes before trying to move a sleeping child: because sometimes, that child isn’t sleeping, and they’ll wake back up and _insist_ on staying up. But when it’s clear that Sophie is out for the count, he fishes her and her cocoon of blankets back up into his arms.

With the TV turned back off, and an unimpressed Pomeranian staring at them for bothering him at this hour, Richie starts to walk back upstairs towards the bedrooms. His phone buzzes again in the pocket of his sweatpants. With Sophie held firmly in one arm, Richie fishes it out.

** _Bev_ ** _: Ben and I need to go to New York for a work thing. Wanna hang? _

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Sure! I’ll let the husband know_

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Oh my God. We can double-date. I call dibs on Haystack. _

** _Bev_ ** _: I mean, we can’t get a sitter for Caleb, so the kid is coming with us_

** _Trashmouth_ ** _: Don’t worry about it. Eddie has a harem of sitters that have all been vetted and screened and interrogated. The kids can have a sleepover here. Nothing is getting in the way of me and Benny Boy having a romantic, candlelit date <3_

Richie gently sets Sophie down in her bed. She snuffles for a second, fingers tightening their grip in the front of Richie’s shirt, but he eventually untangles her and she slips back off to sleep.

* * *

FaceTime sessions are once every two weeks. In between those, they’ll text and berate each other on social media, and it’ll be to the surprise of everyone that _yes, that famous author Bill Denbrough is childhood friends with that comedian Richie Tozier-Kaspbrak, who married a risk analyst called Eddie, who seems to be the source of most of Richie’s new material. And they know that famous fashion designer and women’s shelter manager, Beverly Hanscom – who married an architect, and didn’t he work on that apartment block in New York—_

But sometimes seeing each other on a screen isn’t enough. Eddie is the first to greet Ben and Bev when they get to their door. Caleb ducks under Eddie’s arm, offers a quick _Hi!_ before running into the house looking for the twins. He passes Richie on the staircase, fresh off the phone to the babysitter. She’s on the way, thirty minutes out from their house. Just enough time to make sure the kids are settled before they go.

Sophie toddles by his side, hand firmly caught in his. She doesn’t always like when her dads leave, but she likes Megan the Sitter. And hopefully, Richie has been able to ply her with enough promises of that chocolate cake she likes from the bakery on the other side of the Village.

Eddie brings both Bev and Ben into the kitchen. The dog is at his heels, as is usual. Always following and watching, making sure that whoever is in the house isn’t trouble. Then again, Richie can’t imagine a nine-inch tall dog can put up much of a fight.

But Eddie has always seemed capable of defending himself, so maybe Richie should cut the dog some slack.

“There she is!” Beverly spots both Richie and Sophie stepping into the kitchen.

“Aunt Bevvy,” Sophie scrambles over and wraps her arms tightly around the woman’s legs. A high-pitched giggle escapes her as Beverly untangles her arms and hoists her up into her arms.

Eddie slides a beer bottle over to Ben, standing at the other side of the island. “Is Megan on her way?” he asks Richie, uncapping a bottle for himself and his husband.

Richie nods. “She’ll be here in thirty minutes. The trains are apparently backed up.” Sophie is eventually let back down, and as soon as her feet touch the ground, she scampers over to Eddie’s side. Richie hugs Beverly. He nods a greeting at Ben. “So what’s the plan? Are we tearing up the town?”

Ben laughs into his bottle. “The only thing you’ll be tearing at this age is a muscle, Trashmouth.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “There’s a table at _Bella Italia_ booked for eight, and we can go for drinks after that if everyone is game?”

Richie watches his husband comb his fingers through Sophie’s hair. It’ll be a struggle trying to get out of the house without her attached to either of their legs; but that’s a problem they’ll deal with. Probably.

By the time the babysitter comes, Eddie has already explained to her everything that she should do if something happens; the emergency numbers are pinned to the fridge, the kids should be in bed at a certain time, one of the twins could have the beginnings of a cold and there are about seven types of cold and flu mediation in the bathroom cabinets—

Eventually, Richie loops his arm with one of Eddie’s and hauls him down the steps of their house. “Bye Megan!” He calls over his shoulder.

* * *

Eddie has some sort of blanket rule across all three of the kids that none of them are allowed to look at Richie’s comedy until they’re eighteen.

It’s a bullshit rule. Richie knows for a fact that even though they’re only nine, one if not both of the twins have definitely Googled something. No kid learns that many swear words in an afternoon; especially since Eddie has tried to rein in the swearing around all of the kids.

But it was pretty funny when Allie caught the left side of her hip against the edge of the kitchen island and yelled _fuck_ in front of both of them.

Richie hasn’t stopped laughing since.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie asks one day, putting the last of the washed plates back into the cupboards.

Richie blinks. “Sure,” he says. Almost as soon as the word is out, he tries to keep his heart beating at a steady beat.

Eddie dries his hands and turns, leaning back against the countertop. “Do you think...?” His brow furrows in that way it normally does when he’s confused. Or thinking too hard about something. Richie tilts his head. He hasn’t seen it for a while. “Do you think that we’ll...ever be like our parents?”

There it is. Something in his mind whispers. He shakes it off. “What do you mean?” Richie closes the space between them. He stands in front of the other man, fishing out one of Eddie’s hands from his crossed arms. He might have been emotionally stunted at one part of his life; but he guesses that something must have changed along the way. Something Doc must have said switched something in his head, and he’s able to address things better than before. He’ll still crack a joke: that kind of trauma-response doesn’t just go away. But looking at Eddie now, the fear that’s starting to creep back into his eyes, he knows that if he tried to say something funny now he’d get a fist right into the teeth.

“Where’s this coming from, huh?” Richie lets their fingers tangle. “What’s going on in that head, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie snorts. “A couple of bi-weekly sessions with a shrink and you think you’ve got skills.”

Richie shrugs a shoulder. “You’re going to one too, babe.” And Richie is only slightly bitter that Eddie’s psychiatrist is hotter than his. Is it something they’ve talked at length about before? Yes. Is it something that Eddie holds over his head at every available moment? Yes.

Eddie looks down at their hands for a second before sighing. “I don’t know. I just...I guess I look at everything we have and just feel...guilty? I feel guilty. Like we shouldn’t have it. Wait, no. Like _I_ shouldn’t have it.”

Richie’s hold on his hand firms. But he doesn’t interrupt.

A streamline of thought comes rushing out of Eddie’s mouth. Something that has apparently been brewing for a while. “I mean, everything has just been so _good_ in the past couple of years and I just wonder...what I did to deserve it.”

“You got fucking stabbed by an alien-clown-thing, is what.” Richie sighs. “You had a pretty shitty life, Eds. We all did. And you fucking died. You were killed. And when you came back, when we killed that fucking clown, and we hauled your ass out of that place, and you started breathing again outside, that was the start of it.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “The start of what?”

Richie makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Karma starting to pay us back for everything. And I didn’t believe in that shit until you came back. And when everything after that, when everything was so bad and dark, everything started being good, I thought to myself; surely this is it. Someone Upstairs is definitely paying off some long overdue dues.”

Even in the minimal lighting they have in the kitchen, only used when it’s the two of them and the kids have been spirited away to bed hours before, Richie spots tears starting to form in the corners of Eddie’s eyes. “Don’t you dare cry, dude,” Richie sniffs. “Because I don’t like it when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Eddie says, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m just...confused.”

“We’ve both been through so much shit. Well, one of us definitely had it worse,” Richie grins. He takes it as a minor victory when a ghost of a smile ghosts Eddie’s lips. “Don’t you think it’s time we got good things?”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “I suppose.”

Richie frames Eddie’s face with his hands. Brushing his thumbs along his husband’s cheekbones, he doesn’t mention it when he feels a small drop of moisture underneath his thumb. He doesn’t mention that Eddie’s eyes are getting more bloodshot as the minutes pass. “Do you want to call your Hot Shrink tomorrow and talk it out? I can take the twins to school.”

Eddie catches Richie’s wrists. The smile trying to tug at the corners of his lips eventually succeeds to appear. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “I got a free shrink right here.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Yes, but with Doctor What’s His Name you’ll be getting eye-candy too.”

“You’re hotter.” Eddie slides his hands up Richie’s forearms. “And free.”

Richie balks. “Edward.”

Eddie lifts his chin. “Richard.”

A challenge if ever Richie saw one. “You know,” he says, “if my back wasn’t in a constant threat of being thrown out any second, I’d have carried you to our bedroom already.”

Eddie laughs. A light little thing. “You don’t need to carry me anywhere,” he nods towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be carried? You’re so little.”

“I wouldn’t want to explain to paramedics why you’re on the ground with a broken back.”

“I’m sure they’d get a kick out of it.” Richie gapes. “Imagine the headlines? Famous Comedian’s back blown out by his Sexy Husband. There are all kinds of ways to read into it.”

“Oh my God, stop.” Eddie wiggles out of Richie’s hold and walks towards the hall. He glances over his shoulder. “Turn off the lights when you decide to stop dicking around and join me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments very much appreciated!


End file.
